


Just a Bandage on a Cancer

by Jato



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Matt vents a little, nothing really happens tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jato/pseuds/Jato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All anyone can do at this point is bring the guilty parties to justice... Sometimes I wonder if I am just a bandage on a cancer."</p>
<p>Daredevil Volume 2 #2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Bandage on a Cancer

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really care for the storyline but that particular quote always stuck with me for some reason. It was just a throwaway line too but it's just so Matt.
> 
> I honestly don't really know where I was going with this. Just experimenting with writing Matt's voice in case I ever decide to write more fanfics *shrug*.  
> I admit to losing steam near the end, although I have figured out I like writing action. Critiques welcome.

He sidestepped the blow. Grabbing the arm by the wrist, he twisted downwards and pulled his opponent forward, jabbed once, twice, three times to the throat before his opponent could even managed to stumble. There’s a groan and gasp of pain from the heat source in front of him, movement of air as they shake their head. 

_Don’t let them recover._

Keeping on the offensive, he makes a fist, thumbs in, raised his arm, let’s gravity do the work. Strikes down. There’s a satisfying _”crunch!”_ as bone shattered beneath his knuckles where a balled up fist met an unfortunate nose. Blood floods the air and there’s a bodily _”whump!”_ as his opponent falls face first to the floor. 

Shifting to a defensive stance he froze, inclined his head and listened as the rabbit fast heartbeat of two seconds ago slowed to the rhythmic thump of an unconscious mind. The sounds of the alleyway slowly began to trickle back from his periphery. 

Satisfied that his opponent is out cold, Matt finally took a moment to catch his breath. 

He loosened from his tense crouch, one slow trudging step at a time until his fingers met the cold of a brick wall. Tracing a gloved hand over the lines of concrete, he leaned back with his shoulder against the wall, let himself slide down an inch or two. 

_Control your breathing_. Inhale. Exhale. Matt forced himself to relax. He needs to check that everything’s in working order.

There’s a dull ache in his shoulder. Not bad enough for him to stop working but Matt makes a note to take it easy just in case. 

There’s a bruise forming on his right side from when he’d misjudged the length of a baseball bat and got clipped. He managed to avoid most of that swing and knock the wielder out with a booted kick to the chest that sent them slamming against a railing and over the edge (just a storey, the guy was fine when the cops got there). 

There’s a cut on his bottom lip. Foggy’s going to have a field day with that one. He can hear it already. _What the hell Matty? What happened to your face?!_ To which Matt will smirk, pretend to look wounded as he says that he happens to like his face then remain straight faced as he tells his law partner that the clumsy blind man walked into a pole. Foggy will mutter something about secrets, not knowing that that one wasn’t actually a cover up. Daredevil had walked into a pole. Not his most dignified move, but in all fairness he was still feeling the effects of a baseball bat to the side.

All in all, his injuries are minor. Less than minor. Minimal in fact. Insignificant. Nothing he needs to bother Claire over. Claire. Good old hard working, selfless, tired of his shit Claire. She’ll be glad to know he won’t be bothering her tonight. 

He’d consider this a good night. That is, if it wasn’t. 

Matt turned his attention to the unconscious man by his feet. He doesn’t have the strength of will to resist giving said man a swift kick to the ribs. He feels like shit for doing it. He just literally kicked a man whilst he was down. 

But.

But this man is Daniel Travis. 

The same Daniel Travis that Daredevil put in prison _three months ago_. Three months ago for trying to rape a woman on her way home from work. Just _three months_ and a few missing teeth courtesy of Daredevil. And _six months_ prior to that, Daredevil had broken both his arms to stop him attacking a teenager on his way home from school. 

Travis wasn’t the only familiar voice tonight. 

He’d fought thirteen people tonight. Thirteen people that’s he’s _already fought before_ and put away less than twelve months ago. Five hours of patrolling and not a single new face. And yeah, if he wanted to look at this with a glass half full, at least he knows their fighting styles (if he could even call it a style). Things aren’t getting worse. But they’re not getting better either. They’re… stagnant. 

Gritting his teeth, he removed the burner phone from his pocket. He made a show of looking at his phone, looking down deliberately and hunching over- he can’t hear any heartbeats or the electrical crackle of security cameras but better safe than sorry- as he texts Brett to pick up Mr Travis.

Brett. The whole police department’s frustrated too. They keep putting criminals away only to see them back on the streets months later. They may as well put a revolving door on the prison gates. Daredevil couldn’t do anything about that, and Matt Murdock… Well, Matt Murdock tried. Futilely. 

And Frank. He hasn’t run across Frank all that much. But he knows the Punisher’s been busy. Near daily reports of shootouts and massacres, many right along the city borders of Hell’s Kitchen. If Matt didn’t know any better, he’d think Frank was mocking him. Word on the street is the Punisher never steps foot in Hell’s Kitchen. So naturally all the low lives with half a brain have migrated over here.

A sound in the distance has Matt pausing, cocking his head to the side again, and listening. Wait three seconds. A muffled scream about three blocks away. 

Clicking send, Matt sighed, shutting off the phone and withdrawing his billy club from the side pouch. No use stewing in his problems. Back to work Matty.


End file.
